


safety blanket

by cl0wnb0nes (orphan_account)



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz (Two River Cast) Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxious Michael Mell, Author Projecting onto Michael Mell, Depressed Michael Mell, Epic Gamer TIme, Gay Michael Mell, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, POV First Person, Pining Michael Mell, Sad with a Sad Ending, Short, Trans Michael Mell, fluff kinda, jeremy heere likes christine instead, or - Freeform, sad boy hours, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:24:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cl0wnb0nes
Summary: michael struggles to face the fact that jeremy will never like him back.|| this is first person so if that's not your style please Do Not Read ||





	safety blanket

I almost want to beg him to not let go. His arms feel like seat belts around me- not the uncomfortable kind. Not the kind that scrape and make my neck red. Not the kind that feels too tight around the hips. The kind that I could just melt into, and bask in for however long he wanted. His hands are cold, and his arms are dotted with freckles and scars- something he told me I should embrace- not to mention the many birthmarks and moles. They're home, in a weird sense. And.. Yeah. It sucks knowing that he doesn't really dig me. I mean, who would? Who'd choose anti-social headphones kid over some popular prep who knows everything about making out, sex, and where their hands should go at the right moment? 

I can feel his chest rising and falling against my back. A slow, steady rhythm that speaks more than he does. I count how long it takes for him to take another breath. Three seconds. Sometimes two. Never one. His fingers are resting against the back of my hands, and I can't help but notice how pale his skin looks against mine. His fingernails are barely pressing into my skin. His palms are clammy. He feels like he's shaking- is he nervous, or is that just my imagination? 

_Hey, Mikey?_ He says in a whisper, like someone was listening in on us.

My breath catches. Is this it? Is this the moment? In a second, he'll swiftly turn me around and press his lips onto mine. His hands will travel down to my waist, and he'll hold me so, so tight against him. Exactly like in the movies-- but, coming from experience, life is nothing like the movies.

_Yeah?_ I murmur back.

_I think she likes me, too, dude._

And wow, was that a knife to the heart. My heart clenches as all I can do is sit in the uncomfortable (one-sided) silence. Jeremy probably has no clue of what he's doing to me. The arms around me feel suffocating. Tight. Too tight. I feel too small for my body. Everything is too quiet. It might've only been a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Tears are welling in my eyes. I push them back. Not today. I'm not crying in front of Jeremy. I can't. I remove myself from his grip and sit up, bed creaking with the sudden shift of weight. I glare down at his white and blue bed sheets, trying to find at least something positive to say back. Something other than a one word response.

My throat decides to go against me, leaving a stinging in the back of my mouth that makes it hard to breathe. Be happy for him. Be glad he's getting the one he wants. But when all I want is him, how can I listen to that? My vision blurs, and it's not because of my glasses. I stand and fake a yawn, giving me an excuse to wipe my eyes so he wouldn't tell how much of a mess I am.

_Cool, _I say,_ cool._

Two words. Or would that count as one word? Whatever it was, it wasn't a satisfying enough answer for him. I hear the bed creak. A shifting of blankets. The sound of silk gliding against skin, making my mind wander off in a direction that it shouldn't be going down. I leave the room before he could say anything back, closing the door as carefully as I could behind me. I make my way out of the house, the crisp autumn air hitting me in the face like a bunch of needles. My eyes water even more.

When I get home I go straight to the basement. No use of putting up a mask for my moms. They know I have bad days. They know how I feel. I drop down onto one of two beanbags, burying my face into the fabric and letting my glasses drop to the floor. And I stay there. I stay there and let it all seep out, sobs catching in my throat and making it hard to breathe. No movie-like scenarios for Mell.


End file.
